


The straw that broke the camel’s back

by hongmunmu



Series: A serpent in the rice [3]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 14:37:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13296951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hongmunmu/pseuds/hongmunmu
Summary: Once more, life is proven be fragile. Orochimaru finds that the easiest way to accept this truth is to love nothing.





	The straw that broke the camel’s back

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blackkat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/gifts).



> post-2nd war, pre-3rd war. sakumo comes and goes, anko tries and fails to reach out to her spiralling sensei.

"The war's over, you know," a familiar voice comes from nearby. "You might want to try smiling every now and then."

"Hatake Sakumo," Orochimaru greets dryly, one dark eyebrow raised. "I believe some would argue that my smiling would be anathema to the fact that the war is over."

Sakumo laughs, clapping him on the back as he takes a seat; it's not as rough or boisterous in manner as Jiraiya had always been, despite the action's familiarity, and Orochimaru's grateful for that. He doesn't need any more reminders.

"Are my ears playing tricks on me, or did you just make a joke? A really wordy joke?"

"I thought wolves were supposed to have excellent hearing."

"You are on  _ fire _ today."

* * *

 

He and Hatake sleep together.

In the dim hours of morning, when Orochimaru’s back is pressed into the warmth of Sakumo’s chest and little Kakashi can be heard babbling in his sleep from the other room, Orochimaru stirs awake to feel a hand card gently through his hair. 

“Feeling sentimental?”

“I don't think I'm the only one,” Sakumo responds, tone unreadable. 

He wasn’t wrong.

They were both lonely— there wasn’t a shinobi in Konoha who hadn’t lost someone close to them, but in their case, there were no fallbacks. The company of students and children was simply a bandage when it came to the gaping, vast ache of adult solitude. Both pretending to see someone else; pale skin and feminine frame. Calloused hands and wild white hair. Some things didn’t need to be said, like the fact that they were both using each other, but it still hurt just enough to be noticeable. Like a stone trapped underfoot. 

Sakumo takes his own life the following year.

* * *

 

_ Perhaps there is nothing you can touch that doesn't die _ , one of his lesser summons says, her scales cool against his wrist as she makes her own attempt to comfort him.

"I think you might be even worse at emotional matters than I am," Orochimaru muses with a note of resigned humour, third finger running gently along her ridged brow. She just hisses softly in response. Orochimaru downs another dish of sake, and wonders if this is how Tsunade felt.

* * *

He apparently falls asleep sometime during his ruminations, because at some point he realises the candles lit around his apartment have burnt down almost to the wicks. There’s a soft tapping of footsteps along the corridor, and instinctively Orochimaru throws a flurry of shuriken at the doorway; there’s a small gasp and several metallic clinks. The shuriken bounce off the defensive intruder’s raised kunai and sink themselves into the walls; the figure in the doorway turns, to reveal Anko’s astonished face.

“Sensei?”

“Anko,” Orochimaru says in dull surprise, before letting his guard drop. “I apologise. I should have known it was you.”

“Sheesh,” the girl remarks, eyeing the large slashes that have been made in the wallpaper. “I let myself in ‘cause there wasn’t any response when I rang. I’ll try carrier pigeon next time.”

“You’ve made your point.” Wearily he leans down to retrieve the fallen bottle of sake and matching dish from where they lay on the tatami; a good thing he’d emptied the bottle, else Tsunade would have never let him live it down. If she were here. Anko makes her way into the room, taking in the mess and faint smell of alcohol before eyeing him with scrutiny.

“Were you  _ asleep?  _ That’s not like you.” She watches with folded arms as he picks up the sake dish, inspecting it for cracks. “Wow. Someone’s been having quite the evening. Alone.”

“I wasn’t alone,” Orochimaru replies curtly. It wasn’t  _ technically  _ a lie.

“Ooh. Sor- _ ry _ . Someone’s been having quite the evening, with their pet snake.”

That girl was too smart for her own good. Orochimaru’s eye twitches in annoyance, but he doesn’t reply as he gets up, taking the evidence of his indulgence to the sink and putting on the kettle. Anko takes his lack of response as an invitation to keep talking.

“Gosh, Sensei. Naps, booze, snakes… you’re really letting go, huh? What about the three ninja vices? Laziness, alcohol, and women—”

“It’s  _ money _ , alcohol, and women. If you’re going to lecture me, at least be accurate, Anko,” he quips irritably. Anko just giggles, a bounce in her step as she follows him to the kitchenette. “Make yourself useful and get the tea set, if you insist on bothering me on my day off.”

“Yes,  _ your grace _ ,” she mocks, standing on her tip-toes to reach the crockery cupboard. “Which one? Kintsugi, black lacquer, or the Chinese-style one? Oh, what about the crow pattern—no, wait, I broke that one, didn’t I? Sorry.” There’s a brief pause as she clatters about. “Sensei?”

Silence.

"Sensei, you're… crying!"

He was? Orochimaru frowns in confusion, touching his index finger to his eyelid and registering the warm damp of tear tracks. Well. That was an ... uncomfortable development.

"It would appear I’m unable to stop," he replies quietly, as if crying were some physical affliction not unlike a papercut or an itch. Anko’s face scrunched up in worry, evidently stressed by this unprecedented situation.

“Is… it because of the crow pattern set? I can buy you a new one, um—”

“That was a unique artisan set and the potter passed away before you were born,” Orochimaru interjects immediately, unable to stop himself from correcting her. Anko pales.

“I’m sorry! I, um, I can—”

“It’s not because of that, Anko,” Orochimaru says with a half-hearted chuckle, resting his forehead against his knuckles. “I’m not crying because of a teapot.” Anko visibly stifles a sigh of relief, before glancing back on him in concern.

“Is it…”

Orochimaru just shakes his head, taking a deep breath before reaching out to ruffle her hair. “It’s nothing you need worry about. I’m just… tired.”

He can tell she doesn’t believe him from the unchanging look in her eye, but doesn’t concern himself. He taught her better than to persist with him when he’s unstable, after all. There’s a few uncomfortable moments of silence disturbed only by the whistling of the kettle and the clink of crockery as Anko carefully lays out the kintsugi tea set. She only breaks the silence a minute or so later when they’ve both seated themselves at Orochimaru’s kotatsu and he carefully pours the tea, her cup first.

“You’re allowed to have emotions, y’know, sensei,” she mumbles quietly, hands twisting in her lap below the quilt. “Lord Third isn’t going to punish anyone for crying like Lord Second did—”

“Anko,” he warns, a note of menace in his voice. Neither of them verbally point out the fact that his hand is shaking too much to pour the tea steady, but Anko gets a rag and mops up the puddle, which was more or less the same thing.

Sakumo didn't commit suicide because of him, after all. Orochimaru supposed all the jutsu in the world couldn’t compensate for broken hearts and minds. 

It’s not like Orochimaru’s really upset about it, anyway.

It was just a waste.

**Author's Note:**

> kudos and comments are always welcome if you enjoyed my fic. bookmark the series if you're interested in more works centering on orochimaru's life!


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